Notes on Alaska

The first time my dad went to Alaska, he kept a journal. I didn't do so well, but I did take a few notes; and more importantly, I took in a lot of sights, sounds and smells that create some pleasant memories. I'll share some highlights with you here.





Facts:
For those who care and may not already know... Alaska is bigger than the next three largest states, or the 22 smallest states. Yeah, it's big.
Denali National Park and Preserve alone (the third largest national park, after two other parks that are also in Alaska) is larger than the state of Vermont. I couldn't begin to fathom its six million acres, but I sure did enjoy every bit that I experienced firsthand.

Feelings:
I learned a lot while visiting. More than I wanted to know about coal, less than I would like to know about the geology of the place, and plenty of historical tidbits. However, I won't share all of them here, because although it was all very interesting, what was marvelous about Alaska was just seeing and being there. I don't get much happier than I am when I'm on top of a mountain, seeing for miles around; or walking through a forest, breathing in the sweet smells of wildflowers and spruce trees. And honestly, I don't think I've met more quirky people than I did in my short ten days in Alaska. (Whether they're quirky 'cause they're in Alaska, or the reverse, I'm not sure...)




Fun:
So on my "dream vacation" (which, by the way, cost a LOT less than it typically would, thanks to my daddy who works there, whose wife has connections, and whose success in the local poker tournaments provided some prime gift certificates to area attractions), I got to do a lot of things including: A day cruise, whitewater rafting, a Jeep safari, an ATV safari, two dinner theatres (which were better than I expected - food-wise and musically:), ordering "whatever we wanted, as much as wanted" (literally) for free at the most expensive restaurant in the gulch (dad's refrigeration skills paid off!), and relaxing in a hot tub at the end of every [17 hours of] day[light].

But the best parts of course were things that are free anyway: Hiking, being surprised by wildlife, picking and eating wild berries, attending a presentation on "Subsistence and Conservation," watching a family fly kites at a city park in Anchorage, touching the Exit Glacier (I said free, not necessarily legal...), viewing The Mountain (Denali/The High One/Mt.McKinley), and spending time with family and new friends.



Animals I saw for the first time with my own eyes in their natural habitat:
Sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals, puffins, moose, caribou, porcupine, dall sheep, beavers, marmots, ptarmigans... finally (after hoping and hoping) some wolves and... I kept saying "I want to see a bear, but from a distance, when I am safe in a car/bus" - well by the end of the trip, I did - seven or eight of them - but, especially after hearing a couple of our guides talk about their up-close grizzly encounters, I began to wish I could see them a little bit closer. But I guess that'll have to wait until...


Next Time:
I knew before going, as with most trips, that I'd end up wanting to go back in the future. I didn't know ahead of time that I would feel like staying and never even bothering to come home. It's the bug... you can see it in the faces of two out of every three males in the state (and those are usually the, ah, more unshaven ones)... and I started to catch it! Oh, if it weren't for grad school starting in a couple short weeks, I would've been glad to take a job there for the rest of the summer, as there seem to be plenty available this late in the season.
So anyway, about halfway into my first day, I started a list of things to do "next time" - if there is a next time. Things like hiking to the Harding Icefield, taking a rail trip, going to the hot springs, hiking ALL the way up Mt. Healy and on the WHOLE Triple Lakes trail - and numerous other longer hikes that are available, actually camping in the park, and climbing Mt. McKinley. Just kidding, I don't ever want to do that. Too risky.








Speaking of risky, Alaska, and Denali in particular, is not without some very disturbing and sobering events.


Sad:
Only recently have loaded firearms been allowed in the park and preserve, and it is still illegal to discharge them. (Yeah, I questioned that when I first heard it, too. Why is it legal to carry a gun yet illegal to shoot? Oh, yeah... a "right" to bear arms. Silly Americans.) Well, a couple months ago a hiker and his girlfriend encountered a grizzly bear in the park. (By the way, the NPS and everyone else who hosts visitors to Denali is very good at educating on the proper ways to respond to bears, moose, etc. No one has an excuse to be ignorant. Although I wouldn't blame anyone for freaking out and not knowing what to do in an actual event.) Supposedly the girl was threatened by the bear, and the guy instinctively shot at, and killed, it.

While I was there, a young man and young woman tried to cross the Teklanika River near the end of Stampede Road (made famous by the book and movie, "Into the Wild"). They had a poorly-rigged rope system to help them, and the current was too strong, and the woman ended up drowning. My dad's wife, Lori, told us the news after she heard it from some hikers who had just spoken to the young couple the day before, and were pretty shaken up about it. Lori herself was frustrated (and she's not alone in her frustration) over how many people, idealizing the story in the book and movie, come to Denali in search of "the bus," and are unprepared and unwise in how they approach visiting the area.

During my week long stay in Denali, I became increasingly convinced that such a beautiful wilderness is just that - we should be careful to respect and preserve its natural beauty, and we should not think we are greater than the natural forces that can be so wild and unpredictable.

Handprints

At the Center of Hope, we have quite a variety of volunteers. I love working with all of them.... in fact, I think that just might be my favorite part of my job.
There is a girl named Alyssa, whose grandmother lives in one of the apartments above the Center. Whenever Alyssa has early dismissal or a day off school she comes to help us downstairs.
This summer, whenever she's not at day camps, she comes to help out. She helps with EVERYTHING: front desk, bagging groceries, stocking shelves, calling numbers.
OK, so her attention span isn't as long as a regular volunteer shift (2 1/2 hours), so we occasionally find her wandering around, taking a snack break, or reading a book... a couple times I got frustrated because she left her post (number calling or signing people in on the computer - which are both very important) without notice. I explained to her that she needs to let us know so we can find a replacement, before she runs off to do a different job. But all in all, she's a sweetheart, very bright, and a willing helper/learner. I think she's going into 5th grade this fall.
The last couple weeks we've been doing some painting around the Center - to freshen things up a bit. Alyssa helped us finish some trim work, doorframes and doors. Since we were planning to paint the floors soon, I asked the director, on a whim, if we could put handprints on the floor, just for fun. Because Renita is the BEST boss ever, of course she said yes. So Alyssa and I coated our right-hand palms and fingers with white paint and pressed them down, side by side, on the brown floor, right in the middle of the room. We were pretty tickled, anticipating the reactions come Monday morning when the first guests would enter.
Well I had pretty much forgotten about the handprints by the time I came into work the next week. On Tuesday or Wednesday, I noticed the handprints were completely gone, and another volunteer mentioned that they were gone by 10:00 Monday morning. That's how much foot traffic we have in our waiting room!
This morning as I helped put a fresh coat of brown paint on the floors, I remembered our white handprints, and wondered if anyone even noticed them before they were trampled and disappeared. Then I started thinking about little pieces of paint stuck on the bottom of people's shoes, and being walked around all over Kankakee County. And that's kind of the nature of what we do here, by giving food and other temporary forms of physical help to hundreds of people each day: It may not last long, but it's affecting many lives, a little bit at a time.
I smiled to myself, knowing that a middle schooler and I are making our mark on this community. Even if it goes unnoticed, under people's feet... it's spreading all over.

I am like the prostitute: aware of my sin
I am like the bleeding woman: aware of my need
I am like Hannah: aware of my unfulfilled desire
I am like Anna: aware of Your redemptive promise

The Biggest Brother

My dad's oldest brother died a week ago. It was very tragic, and shocking of course... totally unexpected. My uncle Luke was the oldest of 11 children. I can't fully comprehend what grief they must be experiencing right now (not to mention my grandmother, burying her firstborn... or my cousin, burying his father). I know what it's like to look up to an older brother, and the oldest in particular (when I was a little kid I called Jesse my "big brubber" and somehow that still sticks in my mind when I think of him). I don't know what it's like to have so many siblings. From what I observe, it is quite a dynamic of bonds (and often conflicts) between brothers and sisters, older and younger, and differing personalities. Just as each of my aunts and uncles is different from the others, I see each one's grief as unique. On the other hand... just as I commented to my grandma, after seeing a picture of Luke when he was young: "All the Bridges men look the same" - and as Thomas was teased about looking like our dad, and I was reminded yet again that I look like this aunt, wait no that aunt, well ok I look a little bit like all of them - so all of us in this family are the same in some ways, too... in a way our grief is also the same. It's hard to put into words. I can just say this: a big hole is left by the loss of the biggest brother.

How far removed from poverty are we?

When was the last time you…

• Didn’t have a hat, coat or gloves to wear on a cold winter day?
• Worried about your electric being shut off before your next paycheck?
• Sent your child to school in the same clothes as the day before, without changing him or washing even his face?
• Stole something and sold it so you could buy food?
• Relied solely on walking, public transportation, or the chance kindness of others in order to get to and from work every day?
• Went to the Emergency Room (instead of the doctor) because you don’t have insurance, and yet couldn’t pay the bill?
• Were evicted?
• Didn’t have a phone number or mailing address where someone could reach you? (Which is usually essential for getting hired at a job.)
• Dug through a dumpster behind the local grocery store?
• Slept in your car… by necessity, not by choice?
• Got a paycheck-advance loan?
• Couldn’t afford Christmas presents for your family?

If you’re like me, your answer to every one was probably “never.” But how would any number of those things be different if you…

• Grew up without a father, or mother, or both?
• Were illiterate?
• Couldn’t speak the dominant language of the culture in which you live?
• Had a spouse that left you?
• Became disabled?
• Had a child who was disabled?
• Never finished high school?
• Became a single parent as a teenager?
• Didn’t have any surviving family members?
• Were the victim of abuse or neglect?
• Were the victim of fraud or theft?
• Had severe depression, or some other psychological disorder?
• Had a substance-abuse addiction?
• Were the object of racial discrimination?

Perhaps one of these factors, or a combination of two or more, would be enough to change your life to a life of poverty, like the poverty many around us face. Or perhaps you have experienced one or some of these things, and have been or are now in some degree of poverty. Is it hard to see how those in poverty arrived there? Is it difficult to understand why they often stay there… or, are kept there?
Or does it seem like the above factors are so simple, they could easily be remedied? What would it take to rescue an orphan from poverty? Who would befriend a single parent and help him carry the burden of poverty? Why would you learn a language not your own to bridge the gap to someone else’s poverty?

When will we put a stop to inequality in the workplace so that everyone in poverty has a fair chance at getting out? How can access to education be supplied to those whose poverty is a lack of the basic tools of reading and writing? Is there hope for a depressed, schizophrenic, or addicted person to rise out of a poverty of mind?

Can we imagine an end to all kinds of poverty?

I think, not without a closer look…
a step inside… a willingness
to share in others’ poverty,
to walk with them
until we leave it all behind.

Yogurt

I have a sore throat, and this morning the only thing I could find to eat that "felt good" on my throat was some plain yogurt. And it was good. In fact, it tasted so good to my otherwise unwell-feeling body, that I thought: This is the best yogurt I've had in a long time. Since... and then I remembered when, a little over a year ago, I sat in a tent home in the South Hebron Hills of the West Bank and ate a bowl of yogurt served by the Palestinian family that hosted us there on their native land. Since I can't eat gluten (and the best way our translator could explain that was by telling them I had a "weak stomach"), they brought me a special item with breakfast. While my friend Stephanie and our translator Jessica ate bread, I ate the most powerful, delicious, goat-milk yogurt. And I was blessed, I was nourished, by this family who let me sleep under the same roof (er, tent-flaps) as their own children and then went out of their way to feed me something I could eat. Even though we don't speak the same language. Even though they live in a remote village without electricity or plumbing (in very much the same way their ancestors have lived there for centuries) and I come from a rich, Western nation and wear pants and loose hair in the midst of their culture of more modest female dress. Even though they are Muslim and I and my fellow visitors are Christian. Even though they are struggling to keep their home and farm on their land in the midst of a terrible military occupation that my government continues to support and help finance. This family was indeed gracious in their hospitality to me. I will never forget that visit, and will always remember it as a perfect example of the kind of hospitality I want to be able to give and receive.
Walter Brueggemann puts it well, in writing about the importance of hospitality (in Sojourners magazine, May 2010, p. 48):

Perhaps the practice of hospitality is the ultimate outcome of the Easter season, when there is no fear of others, but readiness to host (see Romans 12:13)... God's readiness to take up residence in our habitat contradicts all the fearful aggressiveness of the world. The risen Christ came and said "peace" (John 14:27). Where he comes, there is peace. The news of Easter is that the enlivened Christ invites us away from the deathliness of the world, not to withdraw, but to listen and host and welcome, and so to reverse the vicious cycles that keep wounding nations, communities, and persons.

If You Love Until It Hurts...

Surely you've heard the quote of Mother Teresa: "I have found the paradox that if you love until it hurts, there is no hurt - only more love."
I think it's fair to say that, I have loved until it hurts. And I would like to say that I've found her words to be true.
Other things that happen when you love until it hurts...

~You come to know yourself better
~You come to better understand, appreciate and love the world and the creatures in it called "humans"
~You are able to receive love even more
~You stop caring about some pretty insignificant things that were wasting space in your life
~You want to love more, not less
~Your mind is flooded with thoughts and memories that make you laugh and cry, and you begin to understand the co-existence of joy and sorrow
~If you believe, as I do, in the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus Christ, and that he suffered for love of the world... then you get a little, tiny glimpse of how great God's love for us really is. It's truly awesome.

Maybe it's not that the "hurt" ceases or disappears... but it is overwhelmed by the reality of all that Love really is. The pain is just a symptom... evidence... of the thing that matters most of all.

Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offence, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes. Love does not come to an end.